For his eighteenth birthday, Hashim gets a secret present from his dad. An idea what to give to his best friend for birthday comes to Alex from an unlikely source.
Please go to henrikwilenius.com for more info.
For his eighteenth birthday, Hashim gets a secret present from his dad. An idea what to give to his best friend for birthday comes to Alex from an unlikely source.
Please go to henrikwilenius.com for more info.
While the words ricocheted in the Grand Dome, hashim kept his head low and set a silent prayer asking for mercy, like he had done thousands of times since realizing he was gay.
Speaker 2:Hello, my name is Henrik Milenius and I am the author of the Rise Up Trilogy a young adult coming of age story about Hashim, Alex and Mariam on the threshold of adulthood. This weekly serialized audiobook podcast is narrated by Scott Summers.
Speaker 1:One, hashim shut his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. For the better part of the night he had been trying to squash the loop of images popping up in his head. It sure was the demon that had entered his dreams again, and a damn good looking one at that, standing up on his ornamental prayer mat. He inhaled and exhaled repeatedly until his body was fully relaxed. Then he raised his palms and started to recite the morning prayer. A simple floor lamp in the corner cast a soft light on his smooth face under a nest of curly hair, leaving most of the sparsely furnished room in darkness. It was still dark outside, although the eastern horizon already swam in a pre-dawn summer light. Hashim no longer said his prayers every morning like he used to, but today was Friday and he wanted to go an extra mile to purify his mind for the sacred day of worship. He didn't need to make an effort to remember the words, nor did he concentrate on their specific meaning. In any case, they were an Arabic, a language he didn't speak yet somehow was familiar with. Like his recitation, his movements were effortless as he lowered his hands and kneeled his forehead touching the mat. For him, it felt like the whole universe had stopped to listen to the word of God. Once finished, he closed the blinds, rolled the rug tightly and put it underneath his bed. Then he changed back into his pajamas. He hung the simple black trousers and white shirt in his closet and jumped back into bed just for a little nap. The next thing he knew there was a scraping noise outside in the hallway. Rays of sunlight already penetrated the small holes in the blinds. The alarm clock struck eight and he was doomed. A deep woman's voice started singing outside his door. To an untrained ear it sounded more like the kind of funeral welling in a faraway country you saw in biblical dramas. But a sheen knew better, and when a baritone half an octave lower spilled into the airwaves he scolded himself for not making his escape earlier. The door burst open and his mother sailed in wearing her ankle length gold-rimmed robe and belting out happy birthday with free-rolling Rs Only a third of her girth. His slender father entered right behind her wearing his customary bow tie.
Speaker 1:Hashim did his best to fake sleep, even making throaty noises in a futile attempt to imitate snoring. But he got sidetracked as his nose picked up the scent of freshly baked pita bread on the tray his father had placed on his bed. He could draw from memory a picture of the perfectly rounded falafel next to an ample serving of his mother's prize-winning smooth coriander-flavored hummus All his favorite foods. Yet this cacophony was about to kill his appetite. Pressing the pillow into his face, he cried out Please ground me, but do not sing. I beg of you, do not sing. Unfortunately, this had the opposite effect and the duo not stuck the volume. After the last, you had vanished into the great void. Hashim snatched the pillow off his face and gave a long sigh of relief. His father swallowed a laugh and proposed an encore. Hashim fluttered his thick eyelashes and glanced at his dad. Please have mercy, we really need to check your hearing. His father said, biting back a smile. I'll call social services. Hashim couldn't contain his amusement anymore and broke into a grin. Mom seemed to follow this exchange with her usual detached delight. She didn't get the humor, but that didn't matter. She was probably just happy to see her son and husband having a good time.
Speaker 1:Koisana went to Taiyeb Yahabibi. She said, congratulating him on her native tongue. As she embraced him tightly, hashim let out a whimper. Even after two and a half years of rigorous weight training, she could still squeeze the living daylights out of him. Mom straightened her back. It's kind of dark in here, should we? She hauled herself up with surprising ease and marched to the blinds. And no, hashim's hand flew up to shield his eyes from the glare. The bright morning light flashed through the big window and exposed a spotlessly clean, modern room. No junk lying on the floor or on any other surface for that matter. A lone picture of the holy Kabad Mecca hung on the otherwise bare wall. Mother grunted and drew the blind shut. No noise, minimum light. This was the ideal for hearty breakfast, according to the Book of Hashim.
Speaker 1:Before he could get on with the task at hand, his father broke the spell by sniffing loudly. We're so proud of you. My son is going to an Ivy League school. Mother landed back on the bed and joined the chorus. I always knew you were special, ever since you were a little baby. She pinched his cheek with her strong fingers as if she was molding dough, leaving another red mark, no doubt Like once when you were nine months old. You, please, mom. He was 18 and not a child anymore.
Speaker 1:Since his graduation at the beginning of summer, his mother had revved up the campaign to remind him how special he was Clueless about her hidden agenda. Hashim had dutifully listened to his mother's praise, although it had made him feel uncomfortable and reminded him of all the sins he was hiding. He didn't know what these sweet words were meant to accomplish. To lay a guilt trip on a son for leaving the nest was an age old tradition of Muslim mothers worldwide. She wouldn't relinquish her dominion without a squabble. But you really, I don't wanna be special, I just wanna be like everyone else. Oblivious to what was really going on, his father added with a gleam in his eye and humbled too, like a good Muslim. Mother's frown soon melted into a smile as she watched him devouring the breakfast she had prepared. She got up and took hold of her husband's hand, for her happiness was seeing him enjoying her food. However, soon Hashim stopped eating and raised an eyebrow, getting the hint, father started walking toward the door with mother and tell we'd better start getting ready for Juma. Every Friday, the family went to the local mosque for a congregational prayer. Before he had time to call his best friend, father popped back with a gift. He placed it on the bed and whispered please read it, but don't show it to your mom.
Speaker 1:2. Alex, perched on a kitchen stool scooping up cereal. As he skimmed, the dog-eared page of a paperback novel. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee was his go-to book whenever he found himself in the midst of a writer's block in his own writing. Multitasking was not his forte, as evidenced by the cornflake and milk droppings around the breakfast bowl and beyond. A flushing toilet snapped him out of Alabama. He sprang up and rinsed the bowl. Then he took slices of toast and yanked the lever down, but it wouldn't stay. He cursed the beat-up toaster, probably older than himself. No sweat, toasting was not on the menu today. His phone rang and brought a smile to his face. That ring's home was reserved only for Hashim. With one hand he took the bread, while the other placed the phone between his cheek and his shoulder. Hashim, my buddy bonn et les verser Alex, grabbed the knife and started buttering the toast.
Speaker 1:I know but it sure sounds better in French. Then he glanced at the stained clock on the wall, leamed away from the phone and hollered Dad. Then there was no reply. Alex popped his head around the door and saw his puffy-faced Dad sitting on the bed staring at a hole in the carpet. Then Dad lifted his gaze to a lonely crucifix hanging on the faded wall, wiping the sweat off his forehead. He straightened his back, still oblivious to his son standing by the door and watching him.
Speaker 1:Dad turned to the snapshot of his wife on his night desk. He put on his reading glasses and, for the upteenth time, studied the picture in his hand. It had been taken when she could still walk on her own two feet. She was flashing one of her rare smiles that seemed to light up the whole universe. After kissing the picture, he put it back in its place. As he stumbled up to a stand, alex shrugged half heartedly and tiptoed back to the kitchen. After sniffing a packet of ham he found in the fridge, he checked the date and shrugged. The smell was a bit funky and it was two days past the expiration date. But his father wouldn't care.
Speaker 1:Due to excessive amounts of booze and cigarettes, dad's taste buds were busted. Dad lumbered in and went straight to the Italian espresso maker, blackened from the years of heavy use, one of the few luxury items the family had. Upon tasting the potent concoction, he said in a husky voice Maybe I should cut this down. He grabbed one of the mismatched chairs around the discolored dinner table, sat down and lit up a cigarette In this too. As he took a puff, his grin froze. He stared at the serenity prayer printed on the double-layed letterhead on the fridge and read quietly out loud God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Dad was about to put out the cigarette, but instead went for another puff. Amen, he said and killed it. I was a-writing, by the way.
Speaker 1:Ignoring the question, alex concentrated on wrapping the cellophane around the bread in one go. Anyway, he should be acing it now. He had been doing it every weekday morning for three months since his father had gotten out of rehab. His father slurped down the espresso and slammed the cup on the table. Good stuff. He stood up, almost knocking the chair down, and Alex handed him the tightly-wrapped double sandwich. Thanks, you didn't have to. A saddlebag full of ads for a new grocery store in the mall was waiting for Alex in his bedroom. He and his dad needed every cent they could get. Thank God, the owner of the body shop his father worked at had paid for rehab, but for that month dad hadn't received any salary. And that was in May. Alex was finishing high school and, unlike his schoolmates, in order to pay the bills he had to spend every waking hour earning money from three different jobs, and one of them was delivering ads. His dad was tying his shoelaces with trembling hands in the corridor when Alex came out of the bedroom Another day in paradise, dad said as the sweat ran down his back.
Speaker 1:Paradise. Alex didn't have an ear for sarcasm when it concerned his father. Are you alright? Yeah, I'm good. Dad lifted his head. I would donate one of my kidneys if I could stand the heat the way I used to.
Speaker 1:Alex checked the time on his phone. Dad, you really need to hurry up. Mr Wayne doesn't like. I know, I know. Don't worry, son, it's gonna be okay. Dad straightened his back. I still keep waking up too early. I think my body is still adapting. You know, maybe a brisk walk out in the fresh air would help. He thought for a second and cracked a smile. Listen to me, my buddy's in the tipsy cow wouldn't believe something like that would come out of my mouth. Alex opened the door and turned to his father. I'm real proud of you, dad. You know that, don't you? His dad gasped for air, his bloodshot eyes clouding over Alex dashed out.
Speaker 1:Alex tied the now empty saddle bag to the bicycle rack and looked up at the gleaming condo building rising in front of him. He tried to imagine how it would feel to live in a place like this, with underground parking, security cameras, an in-house gym and a landscape garden, but somehow the idea didn't fly. Like many of his friends, alex didn't feel any significant pull to realize the rags to rich, his American dream, in his mind. He just wasn't cut out for it, and that was fine. By him Riding through the parking lot of Kmart, alex saw Nico, an exchange student from Manchester, england, who had decided to stay after his year was up.
Speaker 1:Nico was tapping his foot up and down, making his skateboard bounce as he waited for Lenny to focus the mini video cam. In the shade at the bottom of the stairs, he jumped on his skateboard, pushing for more speed with his foot and let the board flip over down the concrete steps. As he took a leap, his slender body navigated the air until the soles of his sneakers touched down on the skateboard several feet past the steps. Unfortunately, lenny missed all the action as he had turned around to see who was coming. You doffed Kyle. Nico said with a heavy British accent. He slammed his head on the edge of the skateboard and caught it midair.
Speaker 1:Lenny blinked. Was Lenny just playing stupid? Alex never really knew what. What did I do now? Ignoring the pleading look on Lenny's face. Alex decided to stay out of it.
Speaker 1:These guys were always going at it Up as a potato, nico said. Lenny stuck his chin high. In America we say potato. Alex laughed out loud. In America we say potato. Nico mimicked and winked at Alex. And it's so hot out here? Lenny said uh, stop being such a wuss. Besides, it's your own fault, my fault, how the hell?
Speaker 1:Nico turned to Alex giving Lenny the cold shoulder. So what did you get hushed for his birthday? Nothing yet. But I want to get him something special. Alex had been trying to come up with something original, but to no avail. Anyway, he couldn't afford anything expensive. He wanted something memorable that would remind Hashim of their special friendship. But it was easier said than done. Lenny's eyes lit up. Get him laid, bro Duh. Nico peeked over his shoulder Stuff it, you brain. Nobody asked you, but Lenny stood his ground. Isn't it time he got deflowered? Ignore him, said Nico. Listen, I read about this free workshop for young writers. I'll…. Thanks, man, but I've really gotta go. Alex grabbed the handlebars and nodded toward the saddlebag, indicating he still had plenty of adds to deliver, while in fact the bag was already empty.
Speaker 2:Thank you for listening to the Rise Up Trilogy podcast. For more information, go to my website henrikvillenniuscom.